


Lockdown Voicemails

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Good Omens Lockdown, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Crowley wakes up from his nap to voicemails, plural.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 261





	Lockdown Voicemails

There was an extremely annoying sound blaring outside his cocoon of blankets. No matter how much he growled and hissed at it, the sound wouldn’t cease. In fact, it was only getting louder.

Crowley reached out and grasped his phone, swiping the alarm off without even looking. He drug his now-cold arm with the phone back into the warmth of the blankets and sighed. Maybe five more minutes. What was five more minutes after months of sleeping?

He gave up on it two minutes in, an antsiness spreading out into his limbs making them want to move and slither. He pulled the phone up in front of his face and blinked a few times to clear his vision only to startle and sit up, throwing the blankets back.

There were 24 missed calls, all from Aziraphale. His heart started racing, thinking something had gone horribly wrong while he slept. But, really, if it was something so bad surely Aziraphale would have popped over and woke him up, right? He jabbed the first voicemail:

“Ah, I see I did miss you. I had hoped, well... I had hoped to catch you before your nap,” and here Aziraphale’s voice waiver and lowered a bit, “It is just a nap, I hope. I hope you won’t be gone until July. Just... er, just call me back when you get up, I suppose? Okay.”

Crowley stared at the phone. So, Aziraphale had been okay on May 2nd. That was good. He tapped the second message:

“I guess you were telling the truth about your nap until July. That’s okay, really. I mean there’s not much to do, is there? I was enjoying my baking... The whole process and, of course, the tasting. I don’t know. It’s lost a bit of it’s shine, I’m afraid. I thought about leaving some of my cakes on the neighbor’s stoops. Not sure how well that would be received. Is that a thing humans do anymore? Unprecedented times, they keep saying,” there was a long pause where Crowley could hear him breathing, “I suppose that’s it then. I hope you’re resting well.”

He scrolled down a few voicemails and tapped the one from the last day of May.

“I spent some time reading human accounts of ‘ancient Rome’ today,” Aziraphale began without preamble; Crowley thought he sounded tired, “not all accurate, but they do a pretty good job for what information they have. Doesn’t quite capture the feel of the time. You can’t capture the feeling if you haven’t experienced a culture though, can you? Do you... do you remember the oysters? I thought they were divine, but I remember your face when you tried them.” There’s a soft chuckle and then, “I miss our dinners. Ordering in isn’t the same, even if I can get whatever I want these days.” There was another pause and then a click.

Crowley’s heart was doing a funny little sideways wobble. That was the end of May. He was a little afraid to click the next few messages. Maybe... maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to leave Aziraphale behind just to skip a few months. He scrolled past a few more voicemails and tapped one for the middle of June. There was hardly a sound at first, but an occasional soft sigh or the creak of floorboards gave away that someone was there, pacing. Crowley held the phone closer.

“... the thing is, as you say... I miss you, Crowley. I don’t miss our dinners so much. I can order in what I like. I don’t miss the plays; I can ‘stream’ those. A lot of museums are putting so many interesting things on the internet for me to visit. I can have the majority of the world right here in my bookshop with me. Imagine, human ingenuity,” Crowley swears he can actually hear Aziraphale swallow hard over the phone, “But you’re over there sleeping and I miss your company. Which is silly, isn’t it? We’ve gone longer apart, I know...” there’s another near-silent pause before Aziraphale seems to collect himself, “Do give me a ring when you wake up, dear.”

Crowley rubbed his eyes with his free hand because they were itching from being closed for so long. It’s the brightness of the phone, that’s all. Still, his chest is aching solidly now. There were a couple more messages before the last one and he skips those, opting to listen to the one from two days ago.

“It’s- It’s nearly July now. I find myself a bit excited to hear from you. I hope you don’t hit the snooze,” the laugh that follows sounds hollow and a bit forced, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though. Especially if you check the news before your phone. Things are not... they’re not as far along as we’d hoped. I mean, the world is trying to open back up. Humans treat economies like living things, you know. Some of the sellers on the street have lost their shops. And, one of them got sick. She’s still in hospital. I would like to visit her... maybe help... but they aren’t allowing visitors due to the infectiousness of the virus...” there’s another one of those long, painful pauses that gnaws at Crowley’s chest before, “When you wake up you’re more than welcome to come here now. I should have... I should have let you pop over to begin with. It’s still hard to remember, sometimes... that there aren’t rules for us now. Not even human rules, really. You can drive as fast as you like in London. We can’t get sick. You can come here. I wish. I wish you’d come here. Call me when you’re up, won’t you?”

Crowley tossed his phone and the blankets aside, sliding to the edge of the bed and rubbing his face with both hands. Taking a nap had been a mistake. He should have insisted and tempted the angel into giving in. That’s what he always had done, wasn’t it? Spin words differently until something that had sounded impossible started to sound like something allowed. It was just that, after everything, he had wanted Aziraphale to invite him willingly. But, what had that stubbornness really accomplished? With a snap of his fingers he was clean and dressed. He grabbed a few of his things and a bottle of wine and headed for the Bentley.

Strangely, a knock at the door of the bookshop door yielded no answer. Crowley had seen plenty of humans out and about on the streets on his way here. Maybe the angel had gone out at last. Still, it was being advertised as a bad idea, so he didn’t think that was the case. He snapped open the door and crept inside, locking it again behind him. The bookshop was dark and still inside. He kept walking through the maze of books and the collected clutter of all the angel’s lifetimes.

He found Aziraphale in a pool of light in the back room. He was curled up at the end of the sofa where they’d spent so many nights talking and drinking. A blanket was draped over his lap and a book that had been in his hands was now on the floor. He was sleeping, unbelievably. Crowley had never seen him sleep before. But, here he was: asleep with his silly little glasses still on.

Crowley set the wine down on a side table and stooped down to pick up the book, closing it gently and setting in on the sofa beside Aziraphale. He didn’t stand back up, instead crouching there and observing his friend: his face was lax in sleep, all the fussy lines smoothed out. Crowley found he would rather have those lines back if it meant he could see his eyes. He reached out and gently shook the angel’s knee.

Aziraphale startled which made Crowley jump, losing his balance and pitching backwards to sit on the floor.

“Crowley!”

“Yes, it’s me!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale flustered, going about straightening his bow tie and his collar, “How did you... Did you really pop over here?”

“You were asleep.”

“Nonsense, I don’t sleep.”

“You rarely sleep.”

“I don’t sleep at all. You sleep. For months.” There was a hurt edge to his voice that cut where the voicemails had ached. He had. He had left him alone here for months.

“Okay, you weren’t asleep. I just snuck up on you. Very sneaky, me.” He was back up on his knees now, unsure what to do with his hands. He wanted to touch, but that hadn’t seemed so welcomed a moment before.

“That isn’t much better, is it?” Aziraphale was fiddling with the edges of he blanket in his lap, “Did you have a good nap?”

“Nothing to speak of, really, I was unconscious,” Crowley wanted to rest his hands on Aziraphale’s knees at least, some form of grounding connection, instead he tried to use words, “I’m sorry-”

“I do apologize-”

They shared a long look.

“I’m glad you didn’t oversleep,” Aziraphale swallowed glancing from Crowley’s eyes to his own lap, “It’s been a long couple of months...”

Crowley placed a hand on one knee and when that wasn’t met with more than a cautious gaze he grasped the other and gave it a squeeze.

“I would rather have been here. I’m glad to be here now, with you.”

“I’m relieved you’re here. I missed you terribly, Crowley.” Soft, impossibly warm hands covered his own and Crowley’s heart gave a lurch.

“Next time,” Crowley watched more lines cross the angel’s face, “if there is a next time, I mean. Next time I’ll set my phone so you can ring through.”

“Oh, would you?”

“Anything, Angel, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Maybe next time- if there is a next time,” Aziraphale pulled back his hands and fussed with them in his lap, “Next time you could just sleep here. So I... So I know where you are.”

“I could do that, too,” Crowley’s voice sounded rough even to him. The distance between them, though scant, was still unnerving him. He stood slowly and sat beside Aziraphale, knee pressed against his thigh, “You sounded so sad on the phone. I should’ve been there to answer. I won’t make that mistake again, I promise.”

There was a pause.

“You believe me?”

“I do. You haven’t lied to me yet.”

Crowley felt his shoulder’s relax for the first time since he’d started listening to the messages on his phone.

“So, tell me: you’ve been here all this time wishing I was here, yeah? What would you like to do? I brought some wine! We could play some board games. Promise not to cheat... overly much.” Crowley smiled at him, hoping to draw a smile from the angel.

Aziraphale smiled a little and then a worried shadow crossed over his face.

“Whatever you want, I’m at your disposal: a fully charged demon.”

“I... you don’t have to, you know? It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale was rambling on like Crowley usually did and that was unnerving to say the least, “Could I... well, could I hold you?”

Crowley’s brain fizzled to a stop.

“You can say no,” Aziraphale’s breaths were coming faster now and he was blinking rapidly, “you don’t have to.”

Crowley sat up and threw a knee over Aziraphale’s lap so he could settle into it.

“Oh.”

“Whatever you want. I meant it.” Crowley watched for a moment as Aziraphale took him in, drinking him in really. Then the angel was reaching for him and pulling him into a tight hug. Crowley snuggled closer to him, burying his face in the angel’s shoulder.

“You’re what I want,” one warm hand was on Crowley’s back while the other was stroking up into his hair, “I missed you and now I only want to know you’re here.”

“m’here,” Crowley murmured into the shoulder he was pressed into, arms looping around Aziraphale’s neck, “Not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale squeezed him again and Crowley felt the tension in the angel’s body drain out, taking his along with it.


End file.
